


a water, deep but daring

by Isagel



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Amnesia, F/F, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isagel/pseuds/Isagel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I touched you,” she says. It’s almost a question, but she knows - the image, the sensations vivid, like the bruise on her hip that Dr. Saunders examined, clear and dark though she can’t remember where she got it. She takes another step forward, reaches her hand out toward Sierra. “I touched you here,” she says, and places her hand over Sierra’s breast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a water, deep but daring

**Author's Note:**

> Describes some sexual acts that have the same issues of a lack of informed consent that are seen on the show. Written early in season one.

Echo likes the water. It’s warm and soft, streaming down her body, makes her cheeks tingle with the pricking of the spray when she turns her face up towards the nozzle. The pool is her favorite place - floating in it, water above and below and around, almost like there is nothing else in the world - but the shower is good. She likes how it makes her clean, her skin all new and fresh and smooth to touch, likes how her muscles loosen. She rubs conditioner into her hair, slowly, thoroughly, and the water flows down her spine when she bends her head forward to apply it better.

There are voices, and she looks up, sees Charlie leaving the circle, a towel around his waist, greeting Sierra at the entrance as she steps inside. Sierra smiles when she sees Echo, and Echo smiles back.

Sierra is her friend.

There are just the two of them in the showers now, but Sierra picks the one next to where Echo is standing. This makes Echo smile again, although Sierra has her back turned, hanging her towel up, and cannot see. Sierra sat down at Echo’s table this morning at breakfast, talked to her during lunch. Maybe they will sit together at dinner, too. Echo would like that.

She hasn’t told anyone, but of all her friends here, she likes Sierra best.

Sierra turns the water on and steps into her shower, and Echo moves her head under the spray again, washing the conditioner away. She keeps her eyes open, though. It doesn’t feel right to close them when she can look at Sierra.

Sierra is taller than Echo; all long, thin bones that lie just beneath the skin. It looks fragile, like she could break (like someone could break her, but that is a weird thought; Echo doesn’t know why anyone would), but Echo’s friend Sierra is strong - she runs further than Echo on the treadmill in the gym, lifts as many weights. She tries to do her best, like Echo does. Doing your best is important, like putting your shoulder to the wheel.

Sierra’s hair is wet, and she runs her hands over it, stroking it back from her face. Her skin beneath the sheen of water is tinted warm, flushing darker where the steam from the shower hits. Rivulets run down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, down between her breasts. From the points of her nipples, drops slip and fall towards the floor.

 _She slides her fingers up the girl’s side, runs her knuckles up the underside of her breast. Teasing herself with the promise of softness underneath the bra, teasing the girl with hints of touch. Between the flowers in the lace, though, she can see the girl’s nipple - hard, already, sharply pointed - and she wants that, wants it in her mouth, between her teeth, wants to rub herself off against the girls thigh while she sucks on it, grinds her tongue against it as she comes, like she’ll grind her tongue against the girl’s clit, after, or before. So she flicks her thumb over it, squeezes it between her thumb and the side of her finger._

 _“Fuck, yeah, like that,” the girl breathes, her hand clutching at her waist, dragging her closer. “Do that again. Do it harder.”_

Echo takes a step forward, unthinking, out of her shower towards Sierra. Sierra looks up at the movement, looks questioningly at Echo. Echo’s heart is suddenly pounding, as if she’s been running, miles on the treadmill.

“I touched you,” she says. It’s almost a question, but she _knows_ \- the image, the sensations vivid, like the bruise on her hip that Dr. Saunders examined, clear and dark though she can’t remember where she got it. She takes another step forward, reaches her hand out toward Sierra. “I touched you here,” she says, and places her hand over Sierra’s breast.

Sierra’s eyes go wide, but she doesn’t move away. Her breast is small, not like some of the other girls’, just enough of it to fill Echo’s hand. Soft, softer than the water running over Echo’s fingers, but the nipple is a hard nub against the inside of her palm. She squeezes, just a little, and Sierra makes a noise, barely audible beneath the rush of the showers.

“I think you liked it,” Echo says. “When I touched you. Do you like it?”

It’s suddenly important that Sierra does. As if something might crack open inside Echo if she says no.

Echo holds her breath, searches Sierra’s face.

Sierra bites her lip, and nods. Just two small, quick jerks of her head, but it means “yes”. Echo knows it means “yes” and she feels herself smile. Smile all over, inside and out, something warm and new and startlingly bright.

“If feels good,” Sierra says. She sounds wondering, hesitant, but she smiles, too, and Echo likes when Sierra smiles. Likes when Sierra smiles at her.

She puts her other hand to Sierra’s waist and slides it upwards, along the smooth curve that dips in, then out. Pretty shape like the difficult brushstroke she worked on yesterday in calligraphy class, but Sierra is better, already just right without practice. Echo paints her fingertips along the outer edge of her breast, up along her collarbone, down again. Sierra’s chest rises, falls, quicker than it did before. The wet surface of skin above her breastbone shimmers and dulls, lamplight reflected on every exhale. Echo’s fingers skitter through the water, chasing the shadows, although of course she knows they can’t be caught.

In the cup of her other hand, Sierra’s nipple shifts, tightens, and Echo changes her grip, traces the deep brown peak of it with her thumb.

Sierra gasps - a quick sound, and sharp.

Echo looks up. She doesn’t want to hurt Sierra. Sierra is her friend, and friends don’t hurt each other.

But Sierra doesn’t look hurt. Sierra looks like Echo feels: like the ache in her muscles towards the end of a long swim, like the light of the world above filtered blue through the water of the pool, like the perfect brushstroke she hasn’t managed to master yet.

She steps closer, skin to skin, her thumb stroking Sierra’s nipple, and Sierra says, “Echo,” clutching at Echo’s shoulder, fingers skidding on slippery skin before digging deep into her bicep.

It’s a question, and Echo knows the answer. She doesn’t remember where she learnt it, but she doesn’t pause to try and recall. Knowing an answer is being your best. She always wants to be her best for Sierra.

She slides her hand down across Sierra’s stomach, down to cup the soft folds between Sierra’s legs.

Sierra moans and slumps forward, her long body arcing around Echo’s as she presses into Echo’s hand, her head bending to rest on Echo’s shoulder. Another “yes”, like the nod of her head, and Echo’s pulse is beating as warm as the water around them, as fast as the tumble of drops.

Echo wiggles her fingers, in between the folds, and Sierra shifts her legs further apart, letting her. Smooth and softer than anything Echo knows, and there is a wetness there that isn’t water, thick and slippery and…

 _The girl lies back down, dropping her twisted lace panties off the side of the bed, and spreads her legs. Spreads them so wide her bare toes are curled around the wooden bed frame, knees bent, the outsides of her long thighs pressed against the mattress. Open and naked and so wet her pussy is glistening with it, moisture clinging to the dark flesh of her swollen labia, pooled at her opening, and,_ God, _she’s going to love sinking her fingers into that soft heat, just sliding in with no resistance at all._

 _She crawls closer in the space between the girl’s legs, pressing her own thighs together around her aching clit as she settles on her haunches, laying her hands on the girl’s parted knees, sliding them upwards, inwards, feeling sleek muscles tighten beneath the skin, watching the girl squirm on the bed, her whole body asking for the touch. She halts her hands at the joins between thighs and torso, strokes her thumbs along the outer rim of the girl’s pussy, just skimming the edges._

 _“Teasing bitch,” the girl breathes. It’s an endearment._

 _She flashes her a wicked grin, and does it again._

 _“Come on, baby,” Marcus says from his chair by the bed. “I want to watch you lick that greedy little pussy dry.”_

Echo whirls around, letting go of Sierra to scan the room, her body between Sierra and the open space. She feels her heart pounding, but differently now, not the steady climb of exerting herself in the gym, or the pleasant surge of a moment ago.

“Echo?” Sierra says. Her grip on Echo’s arm is dislodged, but her hand stays, tentative on Echo’s shoulder. She sounds frightened.

There is no one there. No one in the room but the two of them. The only sounds are their breathing and the fall of the water.

No one is watching them.

Echo turns back around, and Sierra’s arm goes around her. They are so close together and there are goose bumps on Sierra’s naked skin, in the hollow of her throat. Echo can see the pulse beating fast beneath, exposed and fragile, as if it could snap (as if someone could snap it).

Echo lifts her hand to cup Sierra’s cheek, lifts her eyes to Sierra’s face. She doesn’t know what to call the look she sees there, but she is glad they are alone. She knows it’s not a look for anyone but them.

“You’re my friend,” she says, and that’s why, she knows that’s why.

“Yes,” Sierra says. “Friends.” There is a blush on her cheek beneath the pad of Echo’s thumb when she smiles. Echo doesn’t think it’s from the steam.

Sierra bites her lip and takes Echo’s hand, pushes it back down between her legs. The sound she makes at the touch is clear like a sky-full of rain.

There are twenty-two ways to break the neck of anyone listening for it, but that is a strange thought. Echo can’t imagine why anyone would be.


End file.
